


Race Me

by katz7777777



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Background Matt/Shiro, Formula 1 AU, Gender-Neutral Pronouns for Pidge | Katie Holt, I'm weak for nice cars, M/M, RACER AU, Slow Build, keith and lance are drivers, pidge and hunk are engineers, racecar drivers, this is going to get so long
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-10
Updated: 2017-05-22
Packaged: 2018-10-17 03:10:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10585206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katz7777777/pseuds/katz7777777
Summary: A story in which Keith has more trophies than any other racer in his league, Lance hasn't raced professionally a day in his life, and everyone somehow expects them to magically work together."I think you meant 'fight me', not 'race me'," Pidge says, not even looking up from their laptop at the two bickering drivers.It was going to be a long season.





	1. First Gear

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not gonna lie, I saw this (http://marmorakeith.tumblr.com/post/158503891035/svedverite-for-a-spring-challenge-on-voltron) amazing piece and I died. I needed a Keith racer au, which turned into an entire voltron klance formula one story, for which I'm not even sorry :) I've kinda set the chapter length to be around 2k words, but because of that there's gonna be so many chapters lol, I guess I'm in this for the long haul
> 
> Anyways, come scream at me on Tumblr: gr8blucat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On your marks, get set, go.

Keith flexed his fingers against the hot leather of the steering wheel, grimacing as the perspiration rolled down the back of his neck, the blistering sun beating down on the tarmac. Waiting was always the worst. The car beneath him was thrumming with power, protesting the delay as much as Keith’s body was. When someone finally stepped forward to wave them into place, Keith lurched forward, engine growling for release.

He easily pulled into the first starting position, glancing up at the bright red lights suspended above him. Keith takes a quick second to double check his controls, check in with the pit crew, and settle a little deeper into his seat. It wouldn’t be long now.

The familiar thrill of adrenaline was already racing through his veins, his grip tightening to a point that should have been uncomfortable, but Keith couldn’t focus on anything but the track ahead of him.

The first light turned green, and he was ready.

* * *

Lance slowly pulled around the last corner, spotting the thick white line on the road ahead of him, and felt the first rush of adrenaline through the overwhelming excitement. He slides in just behind it, slowing to a stop as he drops to a lower gear, his car purring around him. The sun is still high in the sky, and it would have blinded Lance if it weren’t for the tinted visor on his helmet.

It was sweltering. The heat waved off the pavement ahead of him, making the road look more like the sea than anything solid, and Lance silently thanked the inventor of air conditioning. As much as he enjoyed the heat, he did not enjoy sweating.

Lance made a quick check-in with Hunk, regripped the wheel, and shuffled until he was perfectly comfortable in his seat. He heard Hunk mutter a few things to himself before the countdown started.

Lance released a shaky breath, trying to calm the trembling of his hands, and pressed just a little on the acceleration. This time. This time he was going to do it.

* * *

**3.**

**2.**

**1.**

* * *

Keith slammed his foot onto the gas, the pedal nearly touching the floor as he slowly released the clutch, the car gearing up as he tore away from the starting line. The sound of other engines roaring around him should have been deafening, but he could only hear the sound of his own car and the static of the headset.

He cast a quick glance to his rearview mirror, the other racers slipping away as he continued to accelerate, the group falling into line with Keith several milliseconds in the lead. He tried to find one car in particular, but didn’t have much time to waste with the first curve up ahead, settling his gaze back on the track.

Keith braced himself against the car’s seat and whipped around the first turn, cutting tight so that no one could pass, and raced off to the next twist. Another glance at his rearview displayed the growing distance between Keith and the rest of the pack, Shiro’s calm voice informing him that he was approaching a full second lead. Not even half way through the first lap.

A small pit settled into Keith’s stomach when he still couldn’t find the other racer behind him. He hummed an acknowledgement at Shiro and frowned as he returned to watching the road ahead of him.

* * *

Lance pulled just slightly off the gas as he slammed his gear shift up to the sixth slot, grimacing as he whispered several apologies to his car, promising Hunk would fix her up after. He heard Hunk chuckle at that, mentioning something about already having the spare parts ready.

He raced towards the first turn, feeling the adrenaline bubble as he refused to slow down, waiting until the last possible moment to cut his momentum. He was going to need every millisecond he could get.

Just before Lance would go plummeting off the edge, he slammed on the brakes, dropped the clutch, and let the momentum slide his tail end around behind him. He held onto the drift a few beats longer, balancing the traction to keep him from spinning out, before accelerating towards the next turn. 

He jostled the gear shift in preparation, holding close to the metal guard on his right, preparing for a wider entry. Lance cut the car left as late as he could, slingshot around the bend, and tore onto the first straightaway.

Lance’s ‘whoop’ of joy was met with a chuckle from his headset.

* * *

Keith’s only six laps in when he hears Shiro inform him of two racers out. He doesn’t even get the chance to ask who when he drives past a familiar bicoloured chassis smoking amidst the gravel, a sleek black car only metres away from his teammate. It’s in his rearview before he can even check if the drivers made it out okay, but Shiro informs him that there were no casualties, and the engineers think that the car can be salvaged.

He also hears the resignation in Shiro’s voice, like he already knows what Keith’s reaction will be.

“What did he do?” Keith practically growls into the mic, aggressively whipping into the next turn, spotting the last place racer turning another bend not too far ahead of him.

“Later.” Shiro says, and Keith backs down at the finality in his tone. He can practically recreate the image of Shiro pinching the bridge of his nose as he sighs into Keith’s headset. “Just finish the race.”

Keith rockets down the straight away instead of replying.

* * *

Lance drifts out of the last curve for the first part of his run, pulling onto the longest stretch of straight road yet. He knows he’s already halfway done, but that doesn’t mean the excitement has lessened at all. If anything, this is the most important part of the race for him.

He glanced down at the speedometer as he geared back up, watches the rotations climb as it hovers just below the theoretical top speed, and gives her just a little more gas. Lance felt an ecstatic giggle burst from him as the numbers climbed above the limited 155mph, and practically yelled at Hunk in the earpiece.

They’d done it. The fastest Lance had ever driven.

Lance let himself enjoy the thrill a little longer, the laughter slowing but the smile locked in place as he flew towards the final patch of winding road, continuing to push until the end of his run.

* * *

Keith didn’t even acknowledge Shiro when he announced the handful of laps Keith had left. Instead Keith continued to cut corners sharper than what was strictly required, having also ignored Shiro’s scolding over that several laps back. He was coming up on the small silver car ahead of him for the fourth time, pulling past the other racer as he lapped them on the inside of a turn. Again.

Keith let out a frustrated noise as he turned another corner, noting several drivers pulling off into the pits, at least two of which were dropping out. He doesn’t even contemplate pulling off, knowing his car was designed to last at least twice as long as he’d been driving, specifically to avoid needing pit stops.

“Patience Keith.” Shiro says through the headset, and Keith just grumbles, knowing he’s probably pouting. “Even if you’re not racing anyone else, you’re racing the clock. You still need to shave some time off your fastest lap to best your record.”

Keith sighs and frowns further, but he knows Shiro’s trying his best. He also knows that he wont be getting anywhere near his record best today. Without the competition, without the drive, he’s more likely quit the race before getting his head back into it.

He accelerates a little too long, the last turn nearly clipping his tail, before he’s off to the final curve of the lap.

* * *

Lance was getting tired. The adrenaline and earlier excitement were keeping him going, but his arms were rapidly feeling the burn of overuse. He was quickly changing the direction of the wheel, pulling at the gear shift, slamming it back in, all before cranking the wheel in the opposite direction again.

Maybe he should be joining Hunk at the gym more often.

He was still drifting with ease in and out of the winding turns, but his control was slowly faltering as he got lazy, his tail nearly scraping across the guard rail as he relaxed on a particularly fast slide. Lance was practically begging for it to be over when he saw the final curve of the road, and he felt like he could cry in relief.

Lance pulled out of the consecutive turns with smoke billowing out behind him, and if someone didn’t know better they may have thought his car was on fire, not that he’d just burned off a majority of the rubber on his tires. He’d have to replace them after this, probably along with a few other touchups from Hunk.

The finish line was just up ahead, the final stretch of road between him and the end of this race, and Lance sped up one last time. He was going to do this.

* * *

Keith flew across the finish line as the checkered flag was waved behind him, gradually slowing down his car as he drove around the first bend again, away from the flashing lights and roaring crowd. He couldn’t hear much besides the purring of his own engine and the hum of approval from Shiro, but he was sure the pit crew was just as loud as the audience.

He took a few more turns faster than his usual victory lap, anger fuelling his speed as he pulled into the pit, barely parking before he was unstrapping himself, unclipping the wheel and handing it to a waiting engineer. By the time Shiro made his way over, Keith had already removed his helmet and was trying to tame his hair, where it was either curling up at the ends or plastering itself to the back of his neck.

“Good job.” Shiro said and reached out to ruffle Keith’s hair, laying waste to all of his effort. Keith swatted his hand away, and looked up at Shiro’s proud smile.

“Where’s Rolo?” Keith asks, and watches Shiro’s smile fall, settling on something more unimpressed.

“In the other garage.” Pidge pipes up from behind Shiro, weaselling their way in-between the two, holding up a tablet to Keith’s face that was filled with numbers he didn’t care to see. “Pathetic lap time by the way, I don’t think I’ve seen you drive that poorly since you started.”

Keith would fix them with a glare if he hadn’t already spotted the other driver. Rolo was casually chatting with some of the pit crew as he leaned against the edge of the garage, the damaged chassis just visible behind him, long scratches littering the paint.

He makes to move towards the other driver when he feels Shiro’s prosthetic hand grab loosely onto his arm and stops in his tracks, turning back to meet Shiro’s exasperated look.

“I know you’re angry,” Shiro beats Keith to whatever he was going to say, “And I know you think he probably deserves whatever you’re going to tell him.” The pointed look that follows that tells him that Shiro doesn’t think he deserves it, and that frustrates Keith.

“He threw the race.” Keith groans, knowing it wont do much to convince Shiro anyways.

“Regardless,” Shiro says, frowning, ”I don't think your first race of the season, your first win, should also involve your first scandal of the year.”

Keith lets his gaze fall to his shoes, letting out a deep breath and feeling some of the anger slip from him. He knows Shiro is right. It’s probably not worth it to get into it here and now, especially after the reputation he’d earned for himself last year. He doesn’t need to start this argument with Rolo.

But damn if he doesn’t want to.

“It’ll be fine Shiro, I’m just going to talk to him.” Keith says, meeting Shiro’s eyes as a look of resignation settles over him. Keith gently removes the plastic fingers from his arm, not missing the way Shiro grimaces at the action.

“I want to talk to you later about adjustments!” Keith hears Pidge yell at him as he begins to walk towards the garages, and waves a hand over his head in acknowledgement. He’s sure he’ll be herded into their lab later to play twenty questions.

Rolo notices Keith approaching and immediately tenses up, quietly ushering the pit staff away, and the look of fear a staff member shoots Keith tells him that maybe he looks as angry as he feels. The staff member is gone in a flash, pretending to inspect some of the equipment far enough away to be out of Keith’s firing rage, but close enough to listen in. Keith can’t find it in himself to care.

“Hey Keith!” Roll greets, sounding just the slightest bit cautious, no longer leaning against the wall. “Congrats on the win.”

“No thanks to you.” Keith says, stopping just in front of the taller male, frustrated that he has to tilt his head upwards to glare at Rolo.

Rolo laughs, still trying to play it safe as Keith fumes inches away from him. “You never needed my help anyways.”

“Not the point.” Keith grits out, taking another step into the Rolo’s personal space as he jams a finger into his chest, knocking him back a step. “What the fuck were you doing back there.”

“Whoa man, chill out,” Rolo says, hands raising up in the air in innocence, and he tries to take another step back only to collide with a metal wall, “I got off to a bad start, I was just trying to work my way back up.”

“We both know you intentionally checked that racer,” Keith says, and the momentary look of guilt on Rolo’s face only further enrages Keith. “You need to be racing up at the front with me, not off playing bumper cars at the back of the pack.”

Keith watches Rolo’s face harden, and realizes that might not have been the right thing to say, but it was too late now. He sent a mental apology to Shiro about the fight that was likely to ensue.

“What’s it matter to you?” Rolo says, pushing his chest into Keith’s finger now, standing menacingly over him. “You won anyways, so what I do isn’t even your problem.”

“My problem-“ Keith starts, incredulous. Of course it was his problem. The only other car that could even _being_ to compete with his was in Rolo’s possession, the only other person who could keep up with him on the track was Rolo, and instead he got kicked in the first few laps leaving Keith to drag his bored ass around the track until the end of the race. It definitely was  _his problem_.

Keith opens his mouth to speak, but notices the number of heads they’ve turned. The pit crew is openly staring now, and he’s pretty sure he can feel Shiro’s glare burning through the back of his head, disappointment weighing the stare.

“Just get your act together,” Keith settles on before turning on his heel, trying to stop the fight in it’s tracks. Or at least delay it to where they can hash it out away from the public eye.

“Whatever you say, oh prodigy!” Roll mocks from behind him, and Keith whirls around to settle Rolo with a glare that would cause a lesser man to wither. But Rolo was nothing if not defiant, so he stares back until Keith eventually decides it’s a waste of his time, turning around to return to his pit crew with a few select curses on his lips.

He’d let Allura deal with Rolo later.

* * *

Lance rocketed across the spray painted finish line, his car thrumming with power as he tried to slow her to a stop, barely hearing Hunk’s excited yelling over the ringing in his own ears. As he slower to a stop, starting to turn his car around to pick up Hunk from where he was standing behind him, he finally could make out what the other was saying.

“Lance! Lance, oh my god, Lance! You did it!” Hunk shouted, laughing he was staring down at the tablet he had in hand.

“Hunk, wait, don’t tell me yet. I need to see it. I need to know.” Lance yells back, driving back up to the other, pulling to a stop just beside him. He tugs off his helmet, tossing it into the back seat, before unbuckling and all but throwing himself out of the car.

Lance only has a second to breathe before Hunk pulls him into a hug, picking Lance up and spinning him around a few times for good measure. By the time Lance has both feet back on the ground he’s nearly vibrating with excitement, and Hunk’s grin is contagious. Both of them are smiling like fools as Hunk hands the tablet over to Lance.

The bright digital numbers stare at lance like a shining beacon, and the laughter that rips from his throat is exuberant. 9:56.052.

“We did it!” Lance shouted when he finally finished laughing, throwing himself into Hunk’s arms again. “We broke ten minutes!”

Hunk was laughing along with Lance as he returned the hug, “A full twenty seconds faster than last time too. Lance you drove so well!”

Lance pulled back with a grin that was physically hurting his face, hand still clasped around the tablet with the digital timer, amazed he hadn’t cracked the screen yet.

“Hey, I can’t take all the credit here,” Lance says, nudging the other man with his elbow, “Whatever you did to her engine made her fly. She broke 155.”

Lance watched Hunk’s face fluctuate between an embarrassed blush and keen excitement as he picked up Lance again, squeezing the air out of him.

“I didn’t really do all that much.” Hunk said, settling Lance down for a second time, and pulling some gloves out of his back pocket while Lance caught his breath, “I just removed the limiter. It shouldn’t have caused too much damage, nothing too big from the last change.”

Hunk moved past Lance to get to the hood of the car, pulling it up and stepping back for a moment as the heat burst out of it’s confines.

“It really wasn’t anything special, all BMW’s do it the same.” Hunk continued, trying to look without touching any of the scalding metal. “I did it before on your dad’s old one for that second car we made. And removing the limiter doesn’t even do that much, it can still only go so fast. Plus, if you push her too hard then you could seriously damage the engine, and I was worried you’d hurt yourself, and-“

“Hunk,” Lance cuts off Hunk’s rambling, causing him to turn and look at Lance from the hood, somehow managing to already have grease smeared on his face, “You did great. I love it. And I think this deserves celebration.”

“Milkshakes?” Hunk’s face lights up, and Lance smiles as he approaches him, throwing an arm over Hunk’s shoulder.

“Sounds great,” Lance says, squeezing the shoulder with a smile before maneuvering himself to the drivers side door. “On me. Let’s get going, I’m starving, and it is way too hot to spend any more time in the sun.”

Hunk takes one last look at the engine before closing the hood, grabbing his bag of gadgets with the old lawn chair, and slides into the passenger seat of the two door. He throws his stuff into the too-small backseat, and turns to face Lance as the other starts up the vehicle again.

“So,” Hunk says, face serious as Lance starts the car back towards town, albeit much slower than his earlier driver, “chocolate or vanilla?”


	2. Drop the Clutch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the race

“Did it feel like the suspension was tuned right?” Pidge asked, their question reverberating off the metal walls of the silent garage. Keith was seated across from their makeshift desk, papers and small car parts strewn haphazardly around the room, some of the bigger metal components making up the surface Pidge was currently writing upon. Originally, Keith hadn’t been sure that Pidge’s laptop should be so precariously balanced on the metal frame, but it hadn’t fallen yet, so he figured it was fine.

He was staring up vacantly at the crossbars that lined the garage’s ceiling, like he had been for the past hour of Pidge’s questioning, when he finally answered.

“Yes.” He said, not really paying attention to what was being asked, his mind already miles away, begging for this to be over. He wanted to be back on the road.

Keith had to force himself to stop bouncing his leg a few times, something that had become a bit of a nervous habit over the past few years, and the restlessness was getting the better of him. He was still antsy from the race, hadn’t crashed off the adrenaline rush just yet, but he’d been given maybe ten minutes after the trophy ceremony to collect himself before Pidge had all but manhandled him back to their office.

He was also still angry with Rolo, which was not helping the incessant need to keep _moving_. He was angry about the bland taste winning had left in his mouth, angry with how Rolo had brushed him off earlier, but mostly he was angry at himself and how he’d handled the race. Right now, Keith just needed to think. He needed to move. He needed to drive.

But Pidge was adamant about wringing him of every last detail about the race, so Keith sat in the chair, tried not to fiddle too much, and waiting until he could escape back home.

“Did the extra traction control help speed up turn entries?” Pidge asked as they scribbled furiously on the notepad, the only sound in the room apart from the low hum of the air conditioner as it kicked on. Keith almost sighed in relief. The heat all day had been stifling, and he was really looking forward to a cooled shower when he got back to his apartment.

Keith clasped his hands together to stop those from moving too. His mind was already on the road back home, mapping out the route he would take, probably making it a little longer than necessary, but today was a day for back roads. At least then he could go as fast as he wanted.

“Yes.” Keith said again, feeling the wind rushing past him as he raced home, the blistering sun beating down on his back. His mind was lost in grabbing his helmet from the locker room, finally stripping out of the sticky racing gear, slipping his riding jacket on instead. He could practically see the wide planes stretching away from his route home.

“Are you a dick?” Pidge asks, the scratching of pencil on paper finally stopping.

He could see himself weaving around the other cars on the road, feeling the thrill of going just a little too fast, the heart clench when he cut a little too close to another driver. Keith would easily admit he was into the danger of it all.

“Ye-“ Keith cuts himself off, pulling his gaze down from the ceiling, and his head down from the clouds, to level Pidge with a glare. The blank look he receives in return informs him that he probably deserved that one.

Are we done?” Keith asks instead of even trying to defend himself. Pidge just sighs as they place their pencil down, shoving their glasses up so they can rub their eyes.

“Yeah, for you,” They said, sounding far more tired than Keith felt, “but I need to ask Rolo a few questions about the race as well. And I want to hear from you again tomorrow after you’ve slept on it.”

“He didn’t even finish five laps.” Keith scoffs, standing up from his chair, finally stretching his legs. “I doubt he could tell you much of anything.”

“Better than someone.” Pidge mutters under their breath, but Keith catches it and casts an unimpressed look at them. Pidge wouldn’t even give his anger the time of day, their shoulders cracking as they stretch their arms above their head. “Keith, I’m trying to build the fastest car. I _am_ going to build the fastest car. But to do that, I need feedback, and right now even you have to admit yours is pretty shit. Besides, I need to know how it rides for everyone, not just your rage induced driving.”

Keith sighs and looks away from Pidge, suddenly feeling much more guilty about focusing on his ride home, for only thinking about himself. He reaches a hand up to scratch at the back of his head as Pidge brings their arms down, cracking their knuckles as they do so.

“I know. Sorry Pidge.” Keith said, focusing on a spot on the wall to his left.

Pidge let’s out a short laugh before Keith can hear the fluttering of paper, the sound of pencil scratching filling the room again.

“Now,” They said, and Keith glanced over to see the slight smile the other offered him, “get out of here, all your jittering is making me anxious.”

Keith offered them a quick smile of his own, nodding before he slipped out of the room, practically racing down the hall to the locker rooms. He was so close.

He turned the last corner when he heard his name being called, and resisted the urge to groan at yet another delay. Stopping in his tracks, he turned around to find their silver haired president walking briskly down the hallways towards him.

“Allura,” Keith said in greeting, nodding as she smiled at him.

“Keith,” She replied, stopping just in front of him, causing Keith to crane his neck up to look at her, “congratulations on the win today. I understand it may not have been by the best means, but you did well today.”

Keith felt himself flush a little under the praise, even if they both knew his driving today was nothing short of subpar. “Ah, yeah. Thank you Allura.” Keith said, and Allura continued to smile, clasping her hands together at the front of her dress.

“I’m also here to remind you of the meeting tomorrow morning, 10am sharp. I want to go over a few corporate plans, as well as some discussion about the race, and how we plan to proceed with qualifiers.” Allura’s tone was laced with intent, and Keith knew that meant she wanted to discuss his _behaviour_ , and he couldn’t say he blamed her. “All five of us should be there, given Pidge doesn’t run themselves into the ground tonight.”

Keith nods, smiling at the thought of Pidge arriving zombified the next morning, when something clicks,

“Only five?” Keith asks frowning. “Who’s missing?”

Allura tilts her head to the side, confused at Keith’s question.

“You don’t know?” She asks, and Keith only frowns further. “Coran is still in California.”

* * *

Lance drove home with a wallet that’s slightly lighter than it was an hour ago, but with no regrets. The milkshakes had been worth it.

Lance had spent the duration of the drive back raving to Hunk about the modifications he’d made to the car, practically praising the very ground the man walked upon. Lance went on about how easily she shifted gears, about how much more controlled the wheel had felt, about how easily she had pushed the top speed.

By the end of it, Lance wasn’t sure Hunk was ever going to lose the proud flush he had donned the entire ride back. And if you were asking Lance for his opinion, he deserved it. He was such an amazing engineer, dealing with all of Lance’s whimsical ideas which may or may not have included fire boosters a few times. Lance really couldn’t thank Hunk enough.

Hunk barely had time to cut in with questions, asking Lance for his opinion on other changes he was hoping to make, before Lance was fully on board. Hunk didn’t need to explain anything to Lance, Lance would agree in a heart beat, he would trust Hunk with his life.

But before Lance could bestow any more of his love upon his best friend, Hunk regrettably needed to head home, school taking precedence over the Mario Kart marathon Lance was suggesting. Hunk had an astrophysics midterm in the morning, and Lance knew what Hunk was like when he was stressed, so he sent Hunk off with best wishes and the ever present option to call him if it got too much.

Lance had driven the rest of the way home at a pace that Hunk would not have appreciated had he been in the car, and let the excitement continue to race thought him.

He had done it. He’d finally broken the ten minute mark that he’d set as his goal over a year ago, back when he was just learning how to navigate the tracks, back when he was still watching youtube videos on drift techniques. Lance could feel it, could feel himself getting better, could feel the endless hours of training on the circuit paying off.

Finally back at his driveway, Lance unbuckled himself and turned off the car, but had to pause for a moment when the sound of a rumbling engine didn’t stop. He stared at the dashboard, all lights off, before he realized that the sound wasn’t coming from his car.

It was coming from the car behind him.

Lance slipped out of the vehicle, sliding the door closed behind him as he turned around, staring at the vehicle that had pulled in behind him. The car still rumbling on his driveway was bright orange, _fire orange_ his mind so helpfully supplied, and Lance felt himself gaping. The driver cut the engine, causing Lance to snap his jaw shut as he watched the stranger open their door.

The man that stepped out of the older BMW had hair even brighter than his car, his orange moustache curled up at the ends in a way that Lance didn’t even think possible. The stranger stepped out from around his car door, practically bouncing his way over to Lance, and Lance didn’t have the self control to stop himself.

“Is that the Lime Rock Park edition?” Lance blurts, knowing he probably looked as much a fanboy as he felt, and felt a light flush of embarrassment. The smile the man gives Lance makes his moustache curl up impossibly higher, and Lance briefly wonders what kind of styling gel he used.

“Well don't you have a keen eye!” The stranger said with an accent Lance couldn’t quite place, stopping just in front of him, but still seeming to bounce in place.

“Only 200 of those were even made!” Lance said, knowing he was gaping again, leaning to peer past the man at the car.

“Yup!” And somehow the man sounds even more excited about this fact than Lance, “Allura just bought it for Altea, this is it’s test drive weekend.”

Lance missed most of his statement, still fixated on the limited edition car parked on his driveway.

“Allura?” He asks with he small part of his brain that’s not trying to process this situation.

“Oh my, I haven’t introduced myself have I!” The stranger exclaims, and straightens up when Lance nods at him, finally tearing his eyes away from the orange paint job. “My name is Coran.”

The man, Coran, reaches into his back pocket to pull out a slip of paper that Lance assumes is his business card, the white slip embellished with blue print.

“I’m Lance,” He said, accepting the card from the other.

If Lance was gaping before, it was nothing compared to how shellshocked he felt at the company name written in elegant cursive at the top of the card. Lance was starstruck as he read the Altea business card, Coran’s name in bold black letters followed by his management title.

“Altea Constructors?! As in the reigning champions of the Formula 1 races? The designers of the dual powered electric racing engine? The constructor for Takashi Shirogane the five time world champion?” Lance was practically shouting at Coran by the end of it, but there was no way the most prestigious American F1 constructor company had sent this man to his house, sent him to have a conversation with Lance.

Yup! That’s the one.” Coran smiled, clapping his hands together. “We also just had our lead engineer submit a design that should improve the top wind speed of any chassis, we already had a few trial runs, and it looks like we’ll be another ringer for this year’s final!”

Lance could feel the gears in his head grind to a slow halt, trying to process everything that was going on, before they kicked back into high gear. He had too many questions, too few answers, and what felt like too little time to ask them all.

“Coran, my man.” Lance said after he finally got a grip on his whirling mind again. “This is like super cool and all, and I’m super stoked that you’re here, but why are you here? I mean, in Los Angeles of all places, because I though Altea operated out of Texas, but also why are you _here_ , on my family’s driveway?”

If Lance thought Coran’s smile couldn’t get any brighter he was proven incorrect with a twitch of a moustache.

“That, my boy,” Coran mimics, and Lance just continues to be ever surprised by today’s events, “is because of your driving this afternoon.”

“My driv- Down the hil- You saw that?!” Lance stutters out. He knew that area was was a pretty open, but no one ever came by that way, let alone someone like Coran. They should be at the tracks, recruiting from other races, not roaming the hills of California. Definitely not watching some amateur drive.

“I sure did! And what a sight it was to see,” Coran smiled, looking almost nostalgic, and Lance felt a warm rush of pride.

“Ah, it was pretty great.” Lance said, smirking with false bravado to cover up the flush he felt climbing up his neck. “But I’m sure you’ve seen better, I mean, you work with some of the best drivers in the world.”

“Only the best,” Coran said, smiling, and placed a hand on Lance’s shoulder, “and I wan’t you to join them, if you can that is.”

“Me!?” Lance almost pinches himself just to prove that this isn’t a dream. An employee of the best F1 constructor was asking him, Lance, to join their company. To be a driver for their cars. There had to be some kind of mistake.

Lance had only been racing for a few years, he didn’t have a coach, didn’t have a sponsor, didn’t even have a ranked race under his belt! This was the kind of things racers dreamed about. Some big name showing up after a race, recruiting them, dragging them off for a career of what they love.

But that’s just what they were, dreams. That was all they were supposed to be.

“Coran, I’m really flattered and all, but I don’t think you have the right guy. I mean, I’ll admit I was pretty epic on that hill, but there are hundreds of racers in California. And there are so many that are better than me, I mean I get beat on the track all the time.” Lance starts to ramble, overwhelmed. “I don’t even have my super license, I’m really new at racing, I’ve only completed in a few small events before, and I didn’t even win those. And I didn’t even do that with the car on it’s own, I have Hunk make modifications, and he’s really the only reason I could beat ten minutes on that run, because-“

“Lance,” Coran cuts him off and Lance snaps his jaw shut, “can I tell you why I was in California?”

Lance slowly nods his head, reigning in the overwhelming number of thoughts trying to spill from his mind.

“Allura, she's the director of Altea, sent me here to find some new recruits.” Coran said, smiling softly down at Lance. “I’ve been at the tracks every day, watching other drivers like yourself, trying to find someone to bring in. And I don’t think I’ve seen such horrendous driving in my life.”

Lance couldn’t help but laugh at the face the other pulls, looking thoroughly disgusted.

“You’d think they were _trying_ to hit the other cars!” Corn said, shaking his head. “I was actually on my way back to the airport when I saw you driving. Your form could use a little work, your drift gets a little wobbly at times, but it was some of the best driving I’ve seen in years. You have talent Lance.”

To say Lance felt warm all over wouldn’t even cover the warm rush of pride that flooded his veins. He was practically on fire, a flush running up his cheeks.

“Oh.” Was all Lance could say, too stunned for words.

“Well, you don’t need to make a decision right away!” Coran said, and Lance was starting to be certain that Coran’s smile never left his face. “But if you want to give it a try, you can call me with that number on the back of the card.”

Lance flips over the business card he’d forgotten was in his hand, and reads the number scribbled on the back, barely legible.

“Also, you mentioned you had a mechanic? Would you mind if I looked at your car?” When Lance glanced back up, Coran seemed to be vibrating with excitement again, already glancing around to get a better look at his girl. Lance just nodded, stepping out of the way as the other practically skipped past him, popped the hood, and whistled lowly.

Coran had his phone out in seconds, snapping photos of the inner workings of his car, making little affirmative noises as he did so. Lance wasn’t even surprised when he tried to crawl under the car for one particular photo.

“Amazing.” Coran said when he’d finally pulled himself out from under the passenger side door. “I hope you don’t mind if I take these photos back to our lead engineer just for a second opinion, but I think it’s safe to say that if your mechanic wanted to join us as well, we would be honoured to have him.”

Lance just continued to stare at Coran, nodding to acknowledge that he’d heard the statement, even if it hadn’t processed yet.

“I hope to hear from you soon Lance.” Coran said, still smiling as he reached out a hand towards Lance. 

Lance shakes his hand, arm jostled by Coran’s excitement, his brain still whirling with information as Coran headed back to his car. He managed to almost slip back into the drivers seat when Lance called out to him.

“Coran!” He practically shouted, causing Coran to pause for a moment, and acknowledge Lance over the door of his car. “Thank you.”

Coran just smiled, and shook his head lightly. “Thank _you_ , my boy.” Coran said, and slid into his car, started up the roaring engine, and took off down the street, leaving a flabbergasted Lance standing in the middle of his family driveway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who left kudos!
> 
> Incase anyone cares (because I care too much lol)
> 
> This is Lance's car: https://wordlesstech.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/08/BMW-M4-Coupe-2015-concept-10.jpg
> 
> This is Coran's car: https://ag-spots-2012.o.auroraobjects.eu/2012/11/20/bmw-m3-e92-lime-rock-park-edition-c940720112012031916_1.jpg
> 
> Somehow it just worked out that they were both beemers this chapter, but there will inevitably be other brands and faster cars later


	3. Gearing Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meetings and things

Keith walked into Altea the next morning with his helmet tucked under his arm, feeling substantially better than he had the day before. The memory of the race was still fresh in his mind, the anger still simmering just below the surface, but a few long drives had calmed him enough to realize that he may have overreacted.

Rolo had thrown the race, that much Keith was certain of. But it wasn’t Rolo’s fault Keith was bored. Even if they both had what was essentially the same car, it didn’t mean that others shouldn’t have been able to keep up, it didn’t mean that the fourteen other racers shouldn’t have been able to give Keith a run for his money. To some extent, Keith realized he was taking his anger out on Rolo, but that didn’t make him any less frustrated.

Keith tucked his gear into the lockers at the entrance, refusing to even try to tame his hair, settling on the hair elastic strapped around his wrist instead. He slipped out of the changing room, his phone telling him he had just two minutes to skip up the stairs to the only room on the second floor of the building.

He took the stairs two at a time, sliding into the meeting room, settling himself into his seat on Shiro’s left. Shiro cast him a smile in acknowledgement, and Keith could see the dark circles painted on his face, letting Keith know the other was just as tired as he was. Keith almost wished he’d thought ahead to bring Shiro some coffee.

If he was daring he could steal some from Pidge, who was bound to arrive at least five minutes late with an assortment of caffeine, something expected in any meeting hosted before midday. But Pidge was defensive about their coffee, and the last time he’d tried, he’d nearly lost a hand to the small engineer.

From where Allura sat at the head of the table, bent over her laptop as she typed furiously, she looked as impeccable as ever. Not even running a full constructor business could throw her off her game, and Keith would be impressed if he wasn’t so bitter about her habit of scheduling early morning meetings. She and Coran were the only morning people in the company. The seat on her right was empty today, Coran still away on his trip, and Keith silently wondered about his arrival.

Rolo was the next person to arrive, and Keith tried to resist the urge to cast him a displeased look, which failed given the sharp elbow he received from Shiro moments after. Rolo seated himself as far from Keith as possible, which Keith thought was probably a good idea, and immediately pulled out his phone.

Shiro, trying to dispel the tension in the room, started up a brief discussion with Allura about their budgeting for next month, and what the practice schedule was going to look like. Keith tried to listen along, but his mind kept drifting away, the lack of sleep taking it’s toll as the morning hours ticked on.

Keith let his eyes slide shut as he folded his arms on the table, resting his chin upon them.

A few minutes later, when Keith was seconds away from nodding off, Pidge arrived at the meeting room looking like the living dead. They dragged themselves to the seat opposite Keith, haphazardly sliding a coffee over to Shiro, which he accepted with a gracious nod. Keith stared at the two of them, incredulous, and Shiro just smirked while Pidge picked up their own cup, downing the entire drink.

“Alright, let’s get this going.” They said, slamming the cup back down on the table. “I’m working on 3 hours of sleep, and when this is over I’m going right home, back to sleep for the next eternity.”

Allura smiled amused at Pidge and cleared her throat, calling the small room to attention. Keith sat up, trying to rub the sleep from his eyes.

“First, I’d like to thank everyone for coming. I’ve called you all here to discuss the upcoming races, as well as a few other matters that seem to have come to my attention.” The pointed look at Keith wasn’t missed by anyone in the room. “But I’ll start with the biggest news.

“As some of you may know, Coran has been travelling in California, specifically visiting some of the circuits that are open in the area. I’ve sent him there with the hopes of him managing to recruit a few more promising drivers.”

Keith felt himself frown at the new information, and a quick glance around the room tells him that he’s the only one, Shiro nodding along while Rolo continued to stare down at his phone. Before Keith can get a word out Allura had already continued on, trying to dispel any concerns.

“This is not because we don’t believe in the drivers we already have, we know you two are the best of the best.” Allura looks between Keith and Rolo, smiling briefly. “But only having two racers in a top tier company isn’t enough.

“Coran, Shiro, and I are all in agreement that it would be more beneficial for Pidge to have another test driver, especially when it would mean not having to pull the two of you from practice. I also believe that if anything were to happen, I would rather have a back up driver than simply be down to one cart racing. We aren’t looking for your replacements, we are hoping to bring more talent into the team, and hopefully keep pushing our company forward.” Allura ended with a calm smile, and glanced around the table. When it seemed like there were no comments, she clasped her hands in front of her.

“Wonderful.” She said. “Now, the next topic. While we’ve been on a very clear winning streak with the formula one races, and Pidge’s designs are winning more awards than ever, I think as a company we need to branch out a little further.

“I’ve discussed it with Coran, but I wanted your input on the matter as well, would either of you feel comfortable competing in other races?” Allura asked, directing the question to both Rolo and Keith.

“I don’t really know what other ones I would want to compete in just yet, but I can look into it for you.” Rolo says, head still stuck in his phone.

“That’s fair Rolo.” Allura says, a slight frown pulling the corner of her lips down. “Keith?”

“As long as it’s racing, I don't care.” Keith said, and turned to look at Shiro when he barked a laugh.

“You don’t change at all, do you.” Shiro smiled, clasping a hand on Keith’s shoulder, practically beaming at him which was causing Keith to flush slightly.

“I’m glad to hear that Keith.” Allura said smiling, pulling Keith’s attention back to her. “Let me know if there’s anything in particular you want to do.”

Keith just nodded at her, letting Shiro’s hand slide off of him.

“Now,” Allura starts, and Keith knows that tone, knows it’s the tone that mean’s he's fucked up and she has to use her ‘boss’ voice on him, “about your behaviour after last race.”

Keith felt a flush of embarrassment race up his neck. He knew he had been brash, that he should have waited until they were out of the public eye to confront Rolo. But he also knew he’d been so angry. Keith figured the tabloids had a field day with his slip up, his social media feeds were already blowing up with images and videos of his finger pressed menacingly into Rolo’s chest.

Keith opened his mouth, and apology on the tip of his tongue, when suddenly the meeting room door was slammed open, and someone was tumbling through it. Keith’s head spun with everyone else’s, turning around to see Coran panting as though he’d just run all the way here from the airport. Though considering Coran, that wasn’t totally implausible.

“Oh, good, I’ve made it in time!” He said from where he’d almost careened into the table, standing up and straightening himself out before practically skipping over to Allura’s side.

“Coran! Welcome back.” Allura said, smiling as she pulled the older man into an embrace, “It’s good to see you. How was your trip?”

“Oh just the best!” Coran smiles pulling back from their hug. “The beaches there we just divine, the soft sand between your toes, the sun high in the sky, the ocean was so blue-“

“What about the drivers?” Allure cuts him off, still smiling, masterfully rerouting Coran’s rambles. Keith is forever jealous of that ability.

Keith sees something glint in Coran’s eye, the same kind of glint Pidge got when they were about to pull something, and sits up a little straighter. Coran pulls out his phone and types in a few things before smiling at whatever it is he’s found.

“I think I have something you’ll want to see.” He says, grabbing the remote to turn on the projector, quickly hooking up his phone.

A slightly grainy image of what Keith thinks is a hill comes into view, a light coloured road winding down the mountain, a few pixels of colour sitting in the upper right contrasting against the lush green of grass that covered the ground.

“This,” Coran states proudly, almost puffing out his chest with pride, “is Lance.”

Coran pressed play and the camera zoomed in, losing focus of the road for a few seconds, before it was refocused on a bright blue car that was flying down the mountain road, dust billowing up behind them. Whoever they were, they were driving much faster than any sane person should be towards the turn that was coming up.

Keith started wondering if Coran had picked the wrong video and was about to show them a car crash instead of a racer, especially when the driver just _wasn’t_ slowing down for the turn, seeming to almost accelerate towards what Keith figured was their impending doom. But then the car was braking, smoke flying from behind the back wheels, and it was drifting around the corner with an accuracy Keith had only seen in national competitions.

Keith let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, and Shiro whistled low at the video when the driver proceeded to make not two, not three, but four consecutive drifting turns following the first. The car slipped onto another brief section of flat road, once again accelerating insanely fast, and decelerating at the last moment before they cut into the next set of twists in the road.

For the first time in a long while, Keith felt enraptured. The driver was obviously skilled, definitely risky, but apparently with the talent to back it up. The blue car rockets down the long bit of straight road, and Keith thinks about how he would have cut that corner a little tighter, used the traction to take off a little faster, floored it a little sooner. Before he’s even realized it, he’s leaning towards the video to get a better look.

The turns are sloppier after the straightaway, Keith barely suppressing a gasp when the driver looked like they were going to go over the edge more than once, surprised the tail end of their car wasn’t sparking against the metal guard.

Keith got a quick glance at a person standing at what looked to be a painted finish line, their figure in the frame for no more than a millisecond as the camera followed the driver, the car slowly pulling to a stop as they turned it back around. They pulled up to the man in the bright yellow shirt, seeming to be jumping in place, shouting about something the camera couldn’t pick up from so far away. Keith gets a momentary glimpse of brown hair and sun kissed skin as the driver steps out of the car, and then the video cuts out.

“Impressive.” Shiro said, leaning forward onto the table, still staring at the screen as he voiced the opinion of everyone in the room.

“Yeah.” Keith muttered, causing Pidge to glance over at him and give him a curious look. “They could cut in on the corners a little more, and they were getting pretty sloppy by the end, but they have some amazing control over their car.”

“You wouldn’t be Keith if you didn’t critique someone else’s driving. Even if it was during a compliment.” Pidge laughed, the first thing they’d said since downing their coffee earlier.

“That’s wonderful Coran!” Allura said before Keith could come up with a snarky reply for Pidge. “When will they be joining us?”

“Well, I’m not entirely sure.” Corn says, frowning down at his phone before looking back at Allura. “He’s not exactly a professional driver, so he has quite a few things to sort out before he could even race here.”

“What!?” Keith practically shouts, and Shiro winces next to him, “How is he not a pro? No one just _knows_ how to drive a car like that.”

“Self taught.” Coran says, the prideful smile back on his face. “He told me he’s been training on those roads for years now, didn’t really have the money to find himself a driving instructor. Or the luck.”

Keith flushes slightly as he glances at Shiro, knowing the implications of that statement.

“I still think it would be worth bringing him on.” Coran continues, “I think with some professional training and a real coach, we could bring him up to speed in no time, especially if he’s already got the basics.”

“If that’s what you feel Coran,” Allura says, glancing at Shiro who is nodding, smiling enthusiastically, “then I believe in your judgement.”

Coran’s smile grows wider, if that was even possible, before he starts flipping through some more photos on his phone.

“He also said he had a mechanic, I think he was the other man in the video, but I took some photos of the engine just to see what he’d done. I think you’re going to like this Pidge.” Corn says.

Pidge glances up from where they’d lost themselves in their daydreams, the coffee still working it’s way through their system, and fixes their gaze on the photo Coran’s displayed on the screen. Keith can’t tell much about what’s going on, it looks like an engine to him, but based on the way Pidge sits up straighter tells him that they’ve definitely done something interesting.

A few seconds of glancing over it had Pidge suddenly standing up from their chair, startling most of the room, and approaching the projected image. Keith could see them muttering something under their breath, and he could practically hear the gears grinding in their head.

“Coran, do you have another angle of this?” Pidge asked, still not looking away from the picture. “Possibly from more to the right?”

Yup!” Coran smiled, watching Pidge investigate the image thats significance was lost on Keith. As much as he liked driving, many of the inner workings were still very black box, especially with some of the complex changes Pidge was usually working on.

“Stop. There.” Pidge said, stopping Coran from flipping through any further photos.

After a few more moments, Pidge turned away from the screen, and stared at the rest of this room.

“You need to get this Lance person onto the team, we need more drivers,” Pidge started, quickly glancing back at the image, “and I need to talk to this engineer.”

Coran just smiled and nodded as Pidge went to go pick up their empty coffee cup, still looking like they did when they were mulling over a design in their head, before looking to Allura. Pidge didn’t even need to say anything before Allura was nodding, the shorter speed walking out of the room, most likely heading to their lab.

“I think that’s enough for today, we can reconvene at a later date to discuss more about other races and bringing in some new team members.” Allure said, seating herself back into her chair.

Rolo was out of his seat before Allura even finished her sentence, eyes still fixated on his phone as he walked towards the door, and Keith cast him a weak glare. Shiro stayed seated, Keith figuring he has something to discuss with Allura still, so he moved to stand as well, hoping to take a quick ride home and catch up on several hours of lost sleep.

“Keith,” Shiro’s voice cut him off, and Keith glanced at Shiro first, followed by Allura’s sympathetic but unimpressed look, and finally to Coran who was still smiling down at the image on his phone, “I think we still have something to discuss.”

Keith sighed as he sat back down, preparing himself for the inevitable lecture.

He guesses he can’t always be lucky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I went back and basically re-wrote the first two chapters because I didn't like how they read. The premise is the same, nothing fundamental changed, just some of the phrasing :)
> 
> Once again, thank you to everyone who commented or left kudos, you guys are the best!
> 
> This chapter, and the next, are a little slow just for setup purposes. This is also probably one of the last chapters centred around Keith because I'm looking to develop Lance a lot more, so expect the Lance centric chapter next!


End file.
